Sharper Than Steel
by Sexy-Foxface
Summary: The sting of death would surpass the feel of any flawless steel blade. To feel the wavering light leave your own eyes would cause rivers of fear to spiral out of control along the length of my body. I wanted him to be the last thing I would see before I left this world. I would never know the anguish he felt, as he begged for me to hold onto what was left of my life.


**A/N This is just a one shot about Clove's death through her eyes. Review and let me know what you think ^^ And I do not own the Hunger Games or some of the dialogue in this story, as it comes from the book, but is included to keep this realistic.**

The words that announced the feast still hang in the air surrounding us. A wicked smile creeps across my lips, as this little feast will just draw our prey out of hiding. I glance over towards Cato and I know these same thoughts are running rampant across his mind. We have been branded with the title of predators since the moment we stood upon that stage proudly for our entire District to see. This year however we will bring them two victors instead of only one. Neither of us fathoms the idea of allowing our eyes to fall close; those remaining are weak, we are the strong and we shall not fail.

Being a career failure was never an option. Our only option was always to rise from the ashes. This is what we were born to do; we were born to be victors not to fall victim to the flawless steel of another's blade. Now without the pressure of having to watch my back constantly from my own ally this is where the real fun can begin. Ideas of what it is we can do to those who have hidden themselves amongst the trees begin to play across my mind, as if they were nothing more than a movie meant for my eyes and my eyes alone. They are foolish for thinking they could hide from us forever; in this moment their presence will finally become clear to us. The numbers of those who are left will slowly dwindle until only two remain.

My hand twitches restlessly towards my knife that rests peacefully within my belt. My dainty fingertips brush across the stained steel, as I remove my knife from my belt. I allow my eyes to follow the curve of my blade, as I mentally count how many lives it has stolen from the world. Destroying lives is something that has now become second nature to me; it was never difficult and it never shall be. I refuse to feel remorse for what it is I have done during my time being a tribute; that is just how I was raised.

I flip my knife slowly between my fingers with zero regard for how close the flawless steel comes to coming into contact with my flesh. What difference would one more scar make? My fingers are riddled with criss-cross patterns of scars that have been brought forward from my training; mistakes are how I see them, but Cato always told me they add to my character and my demeanor of a career. Perhaps he is right, but to me they are still nothing more than constant reminders of my failures; reminders of when I allowed my blade to slip through the cracks spilling my scarlet blood across the earth. I no longer allow my blade to taste my own flesh, but it is the flesh of my enemies it shall only taste now.

I glance up towards the sky, as the light of the sun streams through the leaves causing faint green shadows to be cast against our bodies. I have lost count of how many days it is we have been here, but in a sick and twisted way I have enjoyed every single one. To feel adrenaline pumping through my veins like wildfire, as I draw out a tribute's final breath is something I now crave. Perhaps it is that killing really is a part of me; a part of me that I shall not shy away from.

I watch with slight curiosity, as Cato stands up; his gaze fixed on somewhere off in the distance. He wipes his blood soaked blade off on his own torn clothing before he speaks, "We need to start making our way towards the cornucopia. This feast is an opportunity we will not be passing up on," A cruel grin tugs at his lips, as he too has grown bored of these waiting games we have been forced to partake in. It is time we brought forth the entertainment all of Panem has been eagerly awaiting for.

"Do you think those damned lovebirds will be stupid enough to go?" I ask Cato, as I stand up placing my knife back into my belt. The tributes of District Twelve have been nothing, but a bother since the moment we arrived at the Capitol. Feeding the people of Panem garbage about their tragic love that would be torn apart by these games; they stole every ounce of attention away from the rest of us.

"Yes, I know where I cut Lover Boy and by now he must barely be alive. His little girlfriend will surely go to the feast in hopes whatever is in their bag will help him," Cato scowls, as he is not pleased with himself about the fact that he allowed Peeta to get away.

"I want to be the one to take Katniss's life," I say after a few minutes of silence. I need to prove not only to myself, but to Cato as well that I deserve to be graced with the title of being a victor. He has always been my greatest competition even back home when we were merely training to be exactly where we are now. I will not allow him or anyone for that matter to see me as weak and destroying the girl who was on fire will prove that I am anything but weak.

"I've wanted to be the one to draw her final breath since day one," Cato responds, as we begin making our way towards where the cornucopia resides.

"What if I promise you that I'll put on a good show?" The grin that dances across my lips is a combination of both danger and a playful cruelty. The damage I could cause to her using my knives is something no one could refuse to pay witness to; not even Cato.

He thinks this over for a few moments before he answers, "Alright, as long as you put on a good show. Make her death as slow and painful as possible. I'll be stalking the perimeter of the cornucopia because I'm sure Lover Boy won't be too far away from all of this. If I can get my hands on him he will die this time; no more mistakes," With those words hanging in the air around us do we part ways. Cato makes his way deeper within the forested area his intentions on being finding Peeta and destroying what is left of his life. I make my way towards the edge of the forest line where the gleaming cornucopia is now in my line of vision.

The cornucopia gleams playfully in the paling light, as it casts gold shadows that snake their way across the vibrant green grass. Only days ago this same grass was painted thick in crimson; crimson that was spilt by my own hands. I wait impatiently beneath the cover of the forest that shields me from direct view. Soon our remaining threats will lose their lives by the steel edge of my blade; this is where the real games will begin. There is no more hiding; no more running, only the death that awaits my prey. The forest surrounding me buzzes with an eerie silence, as the ground beneath the cornucopia begins to give way. It splits into two and from its depths a table becomes present. The five bags remain still, but they are dangerously inviting. What treasures could those two large black bags that display my District Two number upon them? The District Twelve bag catches my eyes and I hold a dark desire to claim it as my own; to use it to taunt the girl who was on fire until I force her life force to slip away from her.

A small growl escapes my lips at the memory of her escaping our clutches only days before. A stroke of luck was her Trackerjacker stunt; a stroke of luck such as that will not happen again; not while I am still stalking the arena. My eyes frantically search the surrounding arena until a stroke of whipping color catches my attention. A stream of fiery red hair darts out from the shadows of the cornucopia, as the female tribute from District Five snatches up her backpack and dashes off into cover. I don't follow in purist, as I know she is not a threat to myself or Cato. We will hunt her down when the time comes, but until then my eyes are set upon a different prize.

Several different ways of how I can inflict pain ripple across the surface of my mind. A good show is what I will bring forth; if it is the last thing I do. I will not allow Katniss to slip into an eternal slumber peacefully; I will drag ways of inflicting pain from the plummets of hell itself. I want to hear her beg for a mercy that will never come. Mercy is an emotion I was never taught to express; it was an emotion that was labelled as weak, something I was not. I slowly begin to feel a soft adrenaline snake its way through my veins the moment I see the forested area across from me begin to ripple with disturbance. "That's right Katniss; time to come out and play," I growl quietly beneath my breath.

The moment the forest gives way to my presence a dangerous aura ripples through the air, appearing to rip away at the very fabrics. This is it; the final moments leading up to the girl who was on fire being extinguished. No longer will her flames glow brightly; instead all that will surround her is the drowning smells of death. My eyes lock on her form, as she dashes towards the cornucopia; her intentions on being claiming what was meant to be hers. My fingers twist around the hilt of my blade, as if on their own command. They know what is to come, just as all of Panem must have the slightest idea as well. No fire can withstand the elements; they all must fade to become noting more than the ash that will be swept up by the howls of the wind.

My knife tears through the air with a deadly accuracy few are able to possess. I watch with steadfast eyes, as the blade of my knife glimmers playfully in the paling light of the sun. This shot is not meant to be the final kill, but a gateway to the pain that will soon follow. Katniss reacts quickly and pulls back her bow, deflecting my knife so it is sent spiraling towards the ground. A scowl plays across my features, but perhaps I never wanted this kill to be as easy as I thought it may be. I want this to play out for as long as possible; I did promise Cato I would put on a good show for all of Panem to pay witness to. This was a promise I was not willing to break.

She moves with reflexes almost as sharp as my own, as she loads her bow; sending a deadly arrow straight towards my heart. I breathe in sharply, as I am able to just move my body enough so the shot is no longer fatal. The arrow lodges itself into my left arm, but thankfully I throw with my right. I bite my lip to the point where I draw blood, but this sensation of pain rippling through my body is a sensation that is not new to me. Pain was something I endured daily; it was seen as a way to increase my mentality so I would stand a greater chance of emerging as the victor; something that was within my grasps, but hurdling farther away from me in the same moment.

My nimble fingers reach up and wrap their way around the fine wooded arrow. I am loosing time this much was clear, but I didn't have much of a choice. I rip the arrow clean out of my flesh and allow my eyes to take in the wound. I have suffered much worse than this and I refuse to allow this little set back to slow me down. I throw the arrow towards the ground; where it shall lay discarded to be unused any further. My lips are drawn out in a cruel smile, as another knife is already peacefully perched between my clutches. Katniss's only focus in this moment is to retrieve whatever treasures it is her bag may hold, but she should know that once a predator has her prey in her line of sight there will be no letting go.

Katniss begins to reload her bow once more, but her actions are cut short by the stinging sensations my knife has brought forth. It tears through the air and makes a clean shot with the soft flesh of her forehead. In a few brief moments her face is covered in the slick metallic twinge of her of her own blood. I take great pleasure in this sight, as my legs move by their own will towards her form. Her readied arrow cuts through the air, missing me by several inches. The twisted smile that dances across my lips in this moment would be enough to send chills riveting down the bravest of soul's spines. I am so close to the moment of ending her pathetic excuse of a life and I can't deny the explosions of excitement that ripple through my body; spreading like a deadly wildfire.

My legs make short work of the little distance that separates us. My feet pound loudly against the ground, as I am sure every camera is trained on us in this moment. All eyes will be locked on us; unable to look away. My body slams into hers and sends us crashing towards the ground. Katniss makes a feeble attempt to throw me off of her, but I firmly place my knees on her shoulders; pinning her to the ground with no means of escape. Never before have I felt so alive; every aspect about myself feels as if it is paying witness to the world for the first time after awakening from an eternal slumber. I know I have the time to enjoy this moment; with Cato stalking the nearby forested area I know no one will be able to stop me from what horrendous acts I am about to commit.

"Where's your boyfriend District Twelve? Still hanging on?" I ask, as she continues to squirm beneath my hold. Here in these games we steal everything away from our victims; including the name they have been branded with. We associate them with nothing more than the lowly District that gave birth to the feeble beings that have died by our hands. To many it may appear almost inhuman to steal even this small shred of identity away from those we destroy, but what is there really to hold onto into these games? Their whole purpose is to portray the powerful; not thrust pity upon the weak.

"He's out there now. Hunting Cato," She snarls at me before she allows her lover's name to escape her lips at the loudest tone imaginable. "Peeta!" In response I jam my fist into her windpipe; silencing her pathetic screams. However the moment her words begin to sink in I whip my head back and forth surveying the surrounding area. What if she is telling the truth? I will not allow these two pathetic tributes from District Twelve to interfere with this moment I have been eagerly waiting for. My breathing almost come to a halt, but slowly returns the moment I realize Lover Boy won't be coming to save his precious girlfriend.

"Liar," A grin plays across my lips, as I turn my attention back towards Katniss's form. "He's nearly dead. Cato knows where he cut him. You've probably got him strapped up in some tree while you try to keep his heart going," It is pathetic how she is trying so desperately to keep his heart beating; she should have known it would have to come to a halt sooner rather than later. My eyes are drawn to the small bag that is still wrapped around her arm. "What's in the pretty little backpack? That medicine for Lover Boy? Too bad he'll never get it," My fingers reach up towards my jacket, as I reveal the deadly array of knives hidden behind its confinements.

I survey over my collection of knives; deciding which one would cause the most amount of damage. My fingertips graze over a dainty blade that holds a wickedly cruel curve to it. The perfect knife to cause the perfect amount of havoc. "I promised Cato if he let me have you, I'd give the audience a good show," I roll the knife between my grasps, as I speak. My eyes flash dangerously in the reflection of the flawless steel. This fire that burns across my surface is one that could be taken as an inhuman quality, but it is this fire that grants me the power to cause such destruction; to hold onto my will to live and destroy.

At the sight of my blade she begins to struggle against my hold, but her attempts are useless. My hold is too tight and I have no intentions of releasing my hold on her. She is now a caged bird; caught within my deadly web. "Forget it, District Twelve. We're going to kill you. Just like we did to your pathetic little ally. What was her name? The one who hopped around in the trees? Rue? Well, first Rue, then you, and then I think we'll just let nature take care of Lover Boy. How does that sound?" My tone is cruel, as is the dark look that graces my features.

"Now where to start," I survey her scarlet stained flesh, as if it were nothing more than a canvas. In many aspects that is all it is; a canvas which I will carve delicate patterns into with a sick pleasure snaking its way through my veins. I grab a fist full of her hair and keep her head pinned down against the crimson stained grass. My mind is buzzing in a million different directions, as I try to formulate where I should make the first cut. The first cut will be nothing more than a gateway; the leading number to the whirlwind of pain and torture that will soon follow. "I think we'll start with your mouth," I almost purr in a dangerous manner. She clamps her mouth shut, as I teasingly trace the razor sharp tip of my blade along the outline of her lips.

Katniss just stares me down as I perform these teasing actions that are building up to the many ways of torture that roll in and out of my mind. It is unsettling how she keeps her eyes locked on my own, but I refuse to allow this to faze me. Let her die with what she thinks will be an ounce of dignity, but I know exactly how to make her beg for her death. To beg for mercy; the mercy of being released from this world. I won't stop until her face is slick in tears; I won't stop until I have forced every last tortured scream out of her lungs that I possibly can. "Yes, I don't think you will have much use for your lips anymore. Want to blow Lover Boy one last kiss?" I laugh coldly, but in response she spits a mixture of blood and saliva into my face. A red hot fury begins to contort my features, as I press the tip of the blade against the soft flesh of her lips. "All right then. Let's get started," This is it that moment I have sought after with much desire; the moment my blade will sting across her flesh.

The moment my blade sinks its steely edge into her flesh I feel a pair of strong arms wrap their way around my form; tearing me away from my prey. I feel all the air rush out of my lungs, as I realize I am being suspended over a foot in the air. Panicked screams force their way out of my lips, almost as if they had a mind all of their own. My mind begins to work in overdrive, as fear slowly starts to take over. I glance down at a pair of dark powerful arms that hold the power to crush my very being. I struggle against this boy's hold, but the pressure against my ribs only begins to increase. This was not supposed to happen; this was never a part of my twisted plans. In this moment my clear green eyes are wide in a fear they have never held before. I feel like a rag doll between his clutches; weak and venerable. He tosses my body around and my vision becomes nothing more than swirls of color, as I tumble towards the earth below.

My body hits the ground hard and my senses are slightly foggy from the impact. The booming sound of the boy from District Eleven's voice is enough to grab a hold of my senses and drag me back into my reality unwillingly, "What'd you do to that little girl? Did you kill her?" His strange golden colored eyes glare into my very being with a fiery hate. My hands are trembling, as I beginning scrambling backwards on all fours. My brain is no longer acting on my side, as fear begins to blind me completely. "No! No, it wasn't me!" I shout, but the look in his eyes screams that he does not believe my words. My lips begin to tremble, but not once do my eyes leave his; not once do I come to the sense of calling for Cato, who could have been my final salvation. Instead I can see now that I will soon be thrown into the unwanted salvation that is death's icy call.

"You said her name. I heard you. Did you kill her? You cut her up like you were going to cut up this girl here?" His features are contorted in anger and I know far too well what anger can do to the mind. It will cloud your judgment; cause you to act rashly. Anger is the reason as to why so many tributes have died; their deaths are brought forth by the dark emotions we feel. Those emotions that many wish we couldn't feel, but that I was taught to embrace with open arms. I see now that I will die because of this boiling emotion that we have branded with the title of anger; an emotion that can be used to ones advantage to bring forward another's downfall.

"No! No, I-" My eyes fall upon the heavy stone resting in his clutches and this is when my mind snaps; this is where fear fully begins to take over. "Cato! Cato!" I screech desperately for the only person who could possibly save my life; that one person who has been at my side through all of this. "Clove!" Cato's voice tears through the air, but it sounds so far away; almost unreachable. He was my final salvation, but I know he would never be able to be by my side to stop this chaos; this chaos that will lead to my untimely demise. My eyes widen to an unnatural size, as Thresh raises the rock high above him. It does not hold any threatening glint that one of my blades would, but the damage it will bring forth will surpass anything a feeble blade could cause.

I close my eyes tightly, as he brings the rock towards the soft satin flesh of my temple. The rock connects with my skull and sends vibrating pain shooting through my entire being. My vision begins to slip away from me, as I sink down into the grass. Soft moans full of an agonizing pain slip free from my lips, as my vision bends in swirls of black and grey. Nothing registers in my mind; not the distorted voices of Thresh and Katniss, not the desperate calls of Cato shouting my name, not anything. The only thing I am able to feel in this moment is a bone crushing pain that snakes its way down to my core, where it has now rooted itself.

My body trembles lightly from the chills that have worked their way through my veins, as if fragments of ice are bubbling along the crimson rivers of my blood. I desperately try to cling onto my reality, but I can feel it slipping through the cracks. I know there will be no saving the remains of my life; this is where the girl from District Two with the wickedly sharp knives and the cruel smile will draw her last breath. Here alone laying in the soft grass that feels as if it is caressing my chilled skin is where I shall reach the end of the road that is my life.

The thought of dying here alone is what terrifies me and causes a few more desperate moans to crawl their way into the surrounding area. More than anything I want Cato to be by my side to send me into whatever may await me after this lifetime, but I know all that must be waiting for me to claim as my own is a world void of everything. A world full of greys where I will be forced to walk amongst its grounds alone; forever to be cast aside as nothing more than a shadow. "Clove!" I hear Cato's voice that is full of an undeniable pain and his voice seems almost closer; almost as if I could reach out and grab it within my clutches.

My shoulders shudder with each ragged breath that I take, but still I cling onto this precious thing we call life. I am not ready to die; I never wanted to die from the start. I chose to be here; I volunteered, but that never meant I held onto a death sentence. I see now that I never understood the real reason as to why I chose to be here. How could I choose to die? Emerging as victor was something that was never set in stone; it was merely my sick and twisted fantasy. The color begins to work its way back into the depths of my eyes, but everything seems lighter in a sense, as if a part of me is already drifting free from the bonds that tie me down to this world. I find myself wondering if the cameras are trained on my form as I live out the last few moments of my life. I wonder if my District is ashamed by the fact that they will not be able to achieve two victors this year, but more than anything I am worried that Cato will be ashamed. Ashamed that he believed I would be able to stand at his side until the end.

I focus on the sweet sounds of the Mockingjays; that is until I hear the swift movement of heavy feet against the earth. I don't have to look to know who it shall be. The moment his blurry image comes into view I shakily reach for his hand and grasp onto it, as if it was my final lifeline. I try to focus on his features; trying to memorize every aspect about him. I want him to be the last thing I see before I release my hold on my life, but the only thought that pains me in this moment is the last image he will have of me. No longer am I the girl who was a proud career; now I have been reduced to nothing more than a scared and broken girl who does not want to release the faint hold she has on her life.

"Clove, stay with me! You can't die on me now," He pleads desperately for me to remain breathing, but he must know it is useless. With our hands interlocked that has become the only thing I am able to feel anymore. The rest of my body has been tinged with a frightening numbness, but I can still feel a faint warmth seeping through the flesh of his hand. I weakly tighten my hold on him further, but I can feel myself spiraling further away from him. I begin to panic because I know death is close. "I don't want to die," I say barely above a whisper." Cato closes his eyes for the briefest of moments, as he brings my hand to his lips.

"I'm going to win for you; not for myself, but for you," He murmurs against my cold skin. I shiver lightly at the feel of his breath against my flesh, as I allow my eyes to fall shut. Cato knows what is about to happen, but that does not stop the desperate pleas that fall free from his lips. "Clove, keep your eyes open!" He begs, but my eyes feel so heavy and I can't open them; no matter how much I want to. The color of his clear blue eyes are stained upon my now closed eyes lids. I hold onto this color, as my breathing begins to become shallow. "Clove? Clove?" Cato's voice is full of a panic that dances in a deadly combination with desperation.

I was the only person that understood him and he knows it shall always be that way. What we shared was something I will never understand; not even as I am here laying on my deathbed. Perhaps I was never meant to understand; no matter how much in this moment I wish I did. His voice begins to sound distorted, as if I was submerged beneath the icy holds of the ocean while he called for me above the waves. I can no longer feel his hand tightly clinging onto my own. Everything feels as if it was in the beginning; as nothing. Nothing is what we started from and that is where I shall return to.

I take in one last ragged breath before my hand slips away from Cato's. I would never hear his agonizing screams, as my cannon went off somewhere in the distance. I would never know the pain he felt, as he continued to hold onto my lifeless form begging for me to open my eyes. I would never know the horrific way he destroyed my murderer. I would never know the great pleasure he took in from the sight of Thresh's crimson blood stained across his flesh. I would never know what thoughts ran rampant across his mind as he too would slip into the eternal rest that is death. Would I cross his mind, as he slipped away into nothing? I would never know.

Simply because you can breathe doesn't mean you're alive or that you really lived. What purpose did my life hold? My purpose was to be crowned as victor, something I was unable to do. This life had taken its toll; I just don't know how much more I can give. I shed plenty of blood and sweat on my way to becoming the young woman I was before I took my last breath. Was I ever able to give more than just that? But him he stands on the top of the world where he raises his hands and clenches his fists where he looks down below demanding the answers. Cato wanted the answers, as to why I had to die; to why he couldn't be there when I needed him. We always have questions that demand answers; questions that seemingly have no correct response.

Death was shaper than any sting the flawless steel of a blade could have offered me. This sting ran deeper than anyone could understand. Death was the only thing that would ever be sharper than steel.


End file.
